


All Aboard the USS Spatchcock

by Bobcatmoran



Series: Escape Velocity Nova AU [1]
Category: Escape Velocity Nova, Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Crossover, hopefully makes sense even if you've never played Escape Velocity Nova
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-12-11 07:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11709804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobcatmoran/pseuds/Bobcatmoran
Summary: Featuring ship captain Grantaire, his trusty crew of Bossuet and Musichetta, and a sudden dilemma when they get a taste of the warrior culture of the Auroran Empire.





	1. A New Hire

**Rimerta, Pimen System, 12 February 1175 NC**

“So, wait, let me get this straight,” Musichetta said. “Chenildieu did what?”

“Got into a bar fight. Something about defending the honor of Tekel House against dogs of Dani House. I didn’t get the details, but —”

“But the two Houses don’t get along,” Musichetta completed Bossuet’s sentence. “Believe me, I know, I’ve been paying attention to the IDs of the ships I see firing at each other on the navcom, even if I have the good sense to stay out of their way. So he got into a bar fight. And?”

“And it involved some of those fearsome knives, you know, the one that he always carries strapped to his waist. And…well…it went badly for him.”

“How badly?”

“We need a new communications officer. The previous one seems to have caught a deadly case of knife-to-the-chest.”

Musichetta sighed and threw her hands up. “You see,  _this_  is why I told Grantaire not to hire an Auroran. Those crazy tattooed idiots, I’m amazed their planets have managed to get so overpopulated when I swear, the average life expectancy must be less than forty. Does Grantaire even know what happened?”

“He was there. You should’ve heard what he said to those Dani warriors.”

“I can well imagine.”

“He kicked one of them in the crotch. It was amazing.”

“Male?”

“Yup.”

“Good. I hope that got their respect. Nothing seems to except violence.”

“Anyhow, he put a job posting on the local BBS, so hopefully we won’t be stuck here too long.”

“Oh, good, so we can get another Auroran who will doubtless die in another extention of these pointless House conflicts. Remind me why I’m working for this captain again?”

“Because he’s a fair employer and is willing to ignore his navigator and pilot sneaking into each others’ rooms like horny teenagers?”

“You shut up. I snuck into your room last night like a horny  _adult_.”

“Anyhow,” Bossuet said, “Aurorans aren’t all that bad. Remember Bahorel?”

“Yes, I remember her,” Musichetta said. “She was as crazy as the rest of them.” After a moment, she grudgingly added, “Danged good pilot, though. I’ve tried flying one of those Phoenixes, and they’re nowhere near as easy to maneuver as she made it look. And she was probably one of the best defense escorts we ever had.”

“I kind of miss her, actually,” Bossuet said. “Hope she’s doing okay, wherever she wound up.”

“Hmph. Well, I’m going to go and see if I can track down our wayward captain.”

“No need,” Bossuet said, as Grantaire walked into the ship.

“Mes amis!” Grantaire proclaimed. “I am sure we are all mourning the loss of dear, departed Chenildieu, who over these past two weeks proved himself to be a belligerent piece of work who argued with all the dockmasters, probably cost me a few thousand credits in extra docking fees, nearly got us kicked off of Resiliance Station, and generally refused to listen to anyone else on the crew. However, time waits for no ship, especially one carrying an urgent load of stuffed knup-knups which we will get no pay for if it’s not on Vella by the end of the month. Thus, I have found a new Chenildieu. An improved model, sans tattoos, sans House allegiance, sans a warrior’s chip on the shoulder, but still with those bilingual skills we desperately need, as I am sure you have all heard my attempts at Auroran.”

“That time you accidentally called that warrior in charge of the warehouse a pile of dirty armchairs is still hilarious, by the way,” Bossuet said.

“So glad I continue to provide amusement,” Grantaire said dryly. “Anyhow, his name is Feuilly, and he said he could be ready to leave by 0600 tomorrow morning.”

“That’s in less than twelve hours,” Musichetta said. “I know the ship’s ready, but Grantaire, did you even give the poor man time to pack?”

“I asked him how many days he’d need to get ready, and he said that’s when he’d be here,” Grantaire said, shrugging.

“You sure he’s not a criminal trying to escape the law?” Bossuet said. “You remember when we took on that Jondrette fellow.”

“Yes, and I thought we were never to speak of that again. And I have learned my lesson. I did a background check, and Feuilly has an impeccable record, not so much as a parking ticket. He seemed honest and polite enough. I think he just wanted to get off planet for the sake of being somewhere that isn’t here.”

“Can’t say that I blame him,” Musichetta said. “I’ll be glad when we can go somewhere where I can see a blue sky. Bossuet, please tell me Vella has blue skies.”

“It has an high concentration of chlorine in the atmosphere, so it’ll be green skies. Is that close enough?”

“No. Grantaire, how long did you say we have to lay low in Auroran space? All their planets seem to be overpopulated environmental disasters.”

“I don’t know. I’d give it another month at least. And even then, we’d better stay clear of the Sol system. Tell you what, we can go to Schmoo in the Gary system later on. That’s supposed to have blue skies.”

“Isn’t that the honeymoon planet?”

“Well, you and Bossuet can go ahead and have your honeymoon there, then.”

“We’re not even married.”

“Could’ve fooled me, the way you two were going at it last night.”

“Oh my word, did you hear that?” Musichetta said, mortified.

“My bunk is right on the other side of the wall. So yes. Not that I’m not happy for you both, but either invite me to join in or maybe Bossuet should try sneaking into your bunk for a change.”

“Has anyone warned this Feuilly what he’s getting into?” Bossuet asked.

“About the shipcest between you two? No. Should I have?” Grantaire asked. “Mind, he might well think it’s normal, us being degenerate Federationers and all.”

“ _You’re_  degenerate,” Bossuet retorted.

“Your  _mom_  is degenerate,” Grantaire responded.

“And you both are children,” Musichetta said. “Grantaire, did you have any information on Chenildieu’s next of kin or whoever should be notified?”

“Yeah, I passed it on to a couple of official types at the bar. They said a Tekel representative would be dropping by to pick up any belongings later this evening.”

“Great, more warriors,” Musichetta said, sighing. “I hope this Feuilly works out. I am so done with the warrior culture here I could scream.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feuilly's first night onboard.

**Hyperspace between Pimen and Freya systems, 13 February 1175 NC**

Fourteen hours of hyperspace to the Freya system. Bossuet sighed, leaning back in the captain’s chair. This was easily the most boring part of space travel. Just sit back, relax, and let the computer steer — unless you were the type who could do six-dimensional geometry in your head. Supposedly there were those who could. As far as Bossuet knew, though, none of his shipmates were among that elite group, unless that new fellow, Feuilly, had some secrets he hadn’t said anything about.

Come to think of it, Feuilly definitely had some secrets he hadn’t said anything about, as he’d hardly spoken two sentences since coming onboard. Bossuet was willing to take Grantaire’s word that his new hire was fluent in both Auroran and Basic, but he had yet to see any real proof. Proof, that is, that Feuilly was fluent in Basic. Bossuet’s Auroran vocabulary so far consisted of, “Hello,” “How much?” “Excuse me,” and a phrase that Bahorel had taught him which he hadn’t dared to try out so far since if it was pronounced one way, it would mean, “Put your knives away, I mean you no harm,” but if you didn’t hold one of the consonants long enough and used the wrong tone, it would mean, “Put your knives away, I sell you no cabbages,” which would probably be less than helpful if he ran into trouble with the local warriors.

Actually, given how their previous translator had met his end, it might be useful to be able to deploy that phrase correctly. Bossuet called up the tutorial recording that Bahorel had made for the crew before she left, and tried to mimic her tones. “…nakh pella,” he muttered, trying to get the sentence ending right. “Nakh pella. Nakh pella. Nakh pella…”

“Why are you speaking to yourself about cabbages?” a voice asked.

Bossuet started and flailed at the control panel, hitting a chunk of buttons all at once. Bahorel’s voice boomed out of the speakers at full volume before Bossuet slammed on the mute. He then turned around to see Feuilly standing in the cockpit’s doorway, looking equally startled and half-ready to bolt back towards the living quarters.

“Hey,” Bossuet said with a wave, sheepishly adding, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s not a problem. I…I did not mean to interrupt you. You are very busy, and I can just…” Feuilly drifted off and made a vague gesture towards the corridor behind him.

“Aw, no, I’m not busy. Just messing around on the computer. Hyperspace is pretty much all autopilot, we’ve just got to keep someone up here in case of problems, you know? And I drew the short straw for the night watch. I mean, not that we get night up here, not really, but Grantaire tries to keep us on a pretty consistent 24-hour cycle — times the landings and all to keep the light-dark cycle planetside from getting us too space-lagged.” Seeing Feuilly’s bland smile, which was starting to look a little fixed, he continued on, “I mean, if you want to go back to sleep, go for it, by all means. It’ll still be another twelve hours or so until anything happens, or if it does happen, there’ll be alarms and stuff, and you’ll definitely know. But you’re also welcome to stay, if you want.”

Feuilly shifted his weight indecisively, then made for the communication officer’s chair to Bossuet’s left. “I thought Grantaire was the captain,” he said.

“Yeah, but you can keep an eye on things better from here,” Bossuet said. “Besides, he has the comfiest chair. Benefits of rank, I guess.”

“I guess,” Feuilly echoed.

“So how’re you liking space so far? Grantaire said this was your first time off-planet?”

“Eh, yes, space. Space is good. It’s very…big. I have seen the holos of it, but to see it here, with my own eyes, it…there is a realness to it now. And the stars!” Feuilly said, genuinely smiling now. “There are so many of them, and to think, all the different planets out there, so far away we cannot even see them, but we are still connected through the hyperspace. And you look at it, and you think, how do they say, ‘This is Heraani, and this is Moashi’? How do they say ‘These systems are for the Aurorans and these are for the Federation’? Because you cannot tell when you just look at the stars which are which.”

“Actually, if you have a star chart you can, but yeah, it’s not like they’re color-coded or anything.”

“Yes, the star charts, I have seen them. But I think if you look at the stars from orbit, you cannot even draw a shape and say, ‘Within this are the Heraani stars,’ because of the…eh…” Feuilly gestured, indicating a series of lines pointing outward from a point.

“Geometry?” Bossuet tried.

“Yes, geometry. It is like trying to see a hydro plant from the inside.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You don’t have hydro plants? With the tubes and everything?”

“Maybe? I mean, we don’t have one shipboard, and they don’t have arcologies where I come from.”

“No arcologies? Then where does everyone live?” Feuilly asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

“In smaller buildings, separate. Y’know, houses and apartments and such.”

“That seems like it’d be so inefficient, though. You’d have to be suiting up and doffing, and all the airlocks…”

“Airlocks? I…oh.  _Oh._  Nah, back on my home planet, the atmosphere’s breathable. You can just walk around outside in your regular clothes. We’ll have to take you to a planet like that. Grantaire mentioned going to Schmoo, but I’m not sure whether he was serious.”

“I…I think I would like that. It sounds interesting.”

“Mmm. You should talk to him about it. He basically grew up on his family’s Leviathan freighters, so he’d probably have more perspective on it than I do. I mean, to me, stuff like rain is no big deal, but he still kind of freaks out about it.”

“Rain, that’s when you get water, and it falls from the atmosphere, right?”

“Right. Say, are you cold?” Bossuet noticed how Feuilly was sitting, hands tucked into his armpits, holding his body stiffly.

“No, I’m not.”

“Really? Promise I won’t judge or anything.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Hold on, I’ve got a jacket back in my quarters. Let me grab it.”

“Oh, no, you don’t need to,” Feuilly protested.

“It’s no problem. Unless you want me to get something of yours? Or you can run and get it?”

“I’m…no, that’s fine.”

“I’ll be back in a sec. Just keep an eye on things, make sure nothing explodes while I’m gone, okay?”

“Okay.”

Bossuet wasn’t able to find the promised jacket, but did find a knit hooded sweater. It was big on him and would be even bigger on Feuilly, but it was better than nothing. Bossuet had a suspicion that Feuilly’s wardrobe was entirely unsuited for any climate outside of the constant shirtsleeves weather of the Rimertan arcology he’d lived in. He made a mental note that they should try to remedy that at the next planet they landed on.

“Sorry, this was all I could find,” Bossuet explained as he re-entered the cockpit. “Here, catch.”

Feuilly fumbled the sweater, turning it this way and that before figuring out which way it went. He pulled it on. The gathered waist fell nearly to his knees.

“Maybe not the best fit,” Bossuet said.

“It’s fine,” Feuilly said. “Thank you, I feel warmer already.”

“So,” Bossuet said, plopping back into the captain’s chair. “If you’re up for it, do you know how to play chess?”

“No? What is it?”

“It’s an old, old Earth board game. Grantaire taught it to me. It’s a good way to pass the time which, as you’ll find, we have an abundance of while in hyperspace.”

“I would be happy to learn,” Feuilly said.

“Great!” Bossuet said, calling up the holo set. “Okay, so first, these little ones, these are pawns. They can only move forward one space…”

* * *

 

“Tag, you’re relieved,” Grantaire said, tapping Bossuet on the shoulder.

“Mngh,” Bossuet said, stretching. “S’bout time.”

“Anything fun and exciting happen during your shift?” Grantaire asked.

“Not much.”

“Is that Feuilly?” Grantaire asked, bending down to look at the figure curled up in the navigator’s chair, knees drawn up to his chest inside an oversized sweater, boots poking out the bottom, and with the hood pulled down over his face. “He’s gonna get twelve different types of cramps sleeping like that.”

“I didn’t have the heart to move him,” Bossuet said. “He mentioned that it was too quiet in his cabin, so he came wandering out here. You should try playing him in chess. He beat me two out of three games, and I think he only lost the first one because he kept forgetting that knights can jump other pieces.”

“Oooh,” Grantaire said, rubbing his hands together eagerly, “this means we can reinstitute crew tournaments.”

“Tiniest set of brackets ever,” Bossuet said.

“At least we have enough players now to have brackets.”

“You are far too invested in this. I’m off to bed then. You need anything before I go?”

“Seriously, don’t let the newbie sleep here. That’s not a bed.”

“Aw, but he looks so comfy.”

“Bossuet.”

“Okay, okay. C’mon Feuilly, up and at ‘em. Captain’s orders.”

Feuilly curled up tighter into a ball and muttered a complaint in Auroran, before poking his head out of the hood.

“Morning, sunshine,” Grantaire said. “Just an FYI for future reference, these chairs are murder on your neck and back for naps.”

“Murder?” Feuilly asked hazily.

“Not like, actual murder. Just figurative.” Bossuet clarified. “C’mon, we can get a nice appetizing breakfast of ration bars.”


End file.
